God of Wine
by MishaMuse
Summary: Relationships are hard. Especially when the other person involved resents you. That's something CM Punk knows firsthand. A Slash-like fic- nothing graphic. Rated T for language. Happy birthday to Darkest-Hearts!


God of Wine

A/N: So it's Darkest-Hearts' birthday again! I wrote her one of those silly Jeff/Punk birthday stories (like Punk's Birthday and Revenge is Sweet), but I wasn't a huge fan of how it came out. While casting around for something else to write, I had the idea for this story. The story's title comes from Third Eye Blind's "God of Wine", which is where the story idea came from. I don't write slash, ever. It has more to do with the fact that I don't read tons of it than that I have anything against it. When I mentioned this idea to Darkest-Hearts, she suggested that I should write her OTP, Junk. This is what I came up with. It's practically G rated and pretty tame, as the slash is more implied than blatant for most of the story. Anyway, this is why I don't write slash. Nevertheless, I hope you like it. Happy birthday, Darkest-Hearts! :D

"I think you've had enough," the bartender said, picking up the glass that sat on the bar before Jeff Hardy. Jeff glared at the man, but didn't say anything. Punk knew that look; he'd seen it on Jeff's face more times than he could count. He thought of it as the mean look- the one that Jeff got just before things would get bad.

"Hey, Jeff," Punk tried, gently setting his hand on the other man's arm. "Maybe we should go back to the room."

"We just got here," Jeff growled, his gaze never leaving the bartender, who was ignoring him. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm ready." He smirked and looked at Punk. "But you go ahead. Scurry off and go to bed, if that's what you want."

"You ought to come with me."

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do," Jeff growled. "Go on, Punk. Go to bed. Go off and cry, like you always do. Some of us want to have some fun, and that's damned near impossible to do with you around." He turned to scan the bar crowd. "I'm not going to let that dumb assed bartender stop me from having a good time, and I'm sure as hell not going to sit here and listen to you whine about leaving." He shook off the other man's hand and slid from the barstool. "I would tell you to go and hang out with the other girls, but they're getting tired of listening to you bitch, too. So get lost." He shot one more smirk over his shoulder, then slipped into the crowd, leaving Punk alone at the bar.

"You going to pay his tab?" The bartender had returned.

Punk sighed and ran a hand across his short hair. "I suppose." He dug out his wallet and slid a couple of twenties across the bar.

"It's none of my business," the bartender said, "but your friend is kind of an asshole."

"I know," Punk muttered. "Thanks." The bartender started to slide his change back. "Keep it."

"Thanks." The man put it into the tip jar. "Do you need me to call a cab or something?"

"No, my hotel is just across the street. Thanks anyway."

"Sure." The bartender shrugged and headed down the bar to serve another customer.

"You looking for some company, honey?" a drunk barfly asked Punk, as he started away from the bar.

The man offered her a wry smile. "No thank you. I think I've had enough of humanity for the night."

She chuckled. "I hear ya."

Without another word, Punk left the bar and headed for his hotel. His friend Mickie was in the lobby when he arrived. "Hi, Punk. What's the matter? You look kind of down."

"Jeff's drinking."

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Too much?"

"When is it not?"

She gave him a sympathetic look. "You know I'm always here for you, right?"

"Sure. But I imagine it's getting old, having to hold my hand when Jeff gets mean." He paused. "The bartender told me he thought I needed new friends, since Jeff's such an asshole."

"Maybe you do," she said. "Well, Jeff, anyway. The rest of us aren't so bad, are we?"

"You're fine," he said with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I don't want to think about it anymore, much less talk about it again. Living it is getting old. I'm not sure how he's keeping it together enough to do shows anymore. I'm always exhausted just from dealing with him."

"So stop dealing with him, Punk."

"I know I need to. It's just... when it's good, it's amazing, and when it's bad, it's..."

"Horrible," Mickie said.

"I was going to say tolerable," he admitted.

"Intolerable," she said.

"Barely tolerable."

She shook her head. "I've known you guys a long time. I used to love hanging out with the both of you, but lately- the past year or so- it's been intolerable to be around the two of you together. Jeff's fun. He's the life of the party."

"And I'm not. I bring everyone down."

"No! I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that your priorities are different, and that you don't do well with someone who is drinking heavily."

"I don't know," Punk said. "I don't think it's just the drinking. I was fine when he was drinking every night, but he's not... It's like he's someone else. Like maybe he's not just drinking. You remember a few years ago, when he got into drugs pretty heavily? It's like that."

"You think he's doing drugs?"

"I don't know. I watch him like a hawk, most of the time. I'm not sure when he would have time to be doing them. But something's really wrong with him, and he's been acting weird the last few weeks."

"It's been longer than that," Mickie said.

"It's been worse the last few weeks, though. I could kind of ignore it before, but now... he's starting to act mean again. Like he did the last time he was using."

"Oh, honey," Mickie sighed, "I'm sorry." She slid her arms around him and hugged gently. "What are you going to do?"

"What can I do?" he asked, despair tainting his voice. "I have to give him the benefit of the doubt, or I have to go through everything he owns and see if he's using again. But if I do that, then the trust is gone, even if he isn't. What kind of a relationship can we have if there's no trust between us? I can't have him in my life if he's using again. You know how I feel about that kind of thing."

"He knows, as well," she said. "So if he is, that means that he's lost all respect for you."

"I know. And that's not something I want to think about."

She sighed. "Do you want my help to go through his stuff tonight?"

"No. I'm just going to go up to bed. When he comes in, we can talk about it, see if maybe he'll tell me what the hell is going on with him."

^%^

The clock buzzed its usual morning song. Punk reached out to slap the top, then frowned. The nightstand was missing. He opened one eye and stared at the strange room around him. Another city, another day. The room was filled with that annoying buzzing. With a sigh, he sat up and searched the room. The clock was on the table that sat between two beds, the second one empty, sheets untouched. Punk rubbed his eyes, waiting for his vision to clear. "Jeff?" The word seemed to echo in the room. A long moment passed before he could drag himself from the bed. The bathroom door was open and the room was empty. There was no note on the table. Nothing. He was alone.

"Jeff?" Punk shook his head, then opened the door to the hallway. Nothing. It was quiet. He looked toward Mickie's door, halfway down the hall. Then, setting his jaw, he crept down the hall and knocked.

It took several tries to get her to answer the door. "Punk?" She blinked sleepily at him. "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty," he said, apologetically. "But Jeff never came back to the room."

"Oh." She glanced back into her room, then sighed. "Okay. Give me a minute to get dressed, and I'll help you go look for him."

"Thanks. And I'm sorry to bother you."

"No problem. That's what friends are for, right?"

"I don't know anymore," Punk muttered, as Mickie shut the door again.

It took her about three minutes to throw on something appropriate and run a brush through her hair. "Where should we start?"

"Where else?" Punk said. "The bar."

"It's not open."

"If he's lying in the gutter out front, that won't matter," said Punk darkly.

They took the elevator, Punk's foot tapping impatiently as it crawled down to the first floor. When the doors opened, they saw an empty lobby. "So much for him being asleep down here," Mickie said.

"That's not his style. It's not dramatic enough."

"Don't you ever get tired of putting up with everything?"

"Yes," Punk sighed. "But what can I do? Jeff's Jeff. He's not going to change for anyone, least of all me."

"That doesn't mean that you ought to put up with this kind of bad behavior. Maybe we ought to go get breakfast and talk about it."

"I'm not hungry. I have no idea where he's gotten himself off to this time, and I'm scared."

"We'll find him," she promised. "We just have to..." Mickie trailed off, her eyes on the stairwell door.

"What?"

"Uh, nothing. Are you sure I can't get you breakfast?"

Punk's gaze followed hers. Within the stairwell, he could see the familiar outline of Jeff, his rainbow hair flowing around his shoulders. "Oh, well." He marched to the door and flung it open. "Don't you think you should-" The words died on his lips as he realized that Jeff was in an intense liplock with a leggy blonde woman. "What the hell?"

Jeff pulled back and glanced at Punk. "Oh, look. The warden's here." The girl giggled.

"What the hell are you doing?" Punk demanded again.

"This is Ariana. Avery? Something like that."

"Allison," the girl supplied.

"Right. Allison."

Punk stared at the girl. "You're not even his type."

"Seems like I'm more his type than you are," she shot back, laughing as Jeff licked her neck.

Punk stared in bewilderment at the pair of them. "You barely know him. I think I'm a better judge..."

"I wouldn't go there," Jeff said, before he grabbed the door of the stairwell. "Go away, Punk. I'm finally having some fun." And with that, he slammed the door shut.

Punk turned slowly to Mickie, who was looking anywhere but at her friend. "Well. That was..." He shook his head.

"What?"

"The last straw, maybe?"

Mickie sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do it."

"No, but I saw him out of the corner of my eye and... yeah. Now it's just... I don't know. All messed up."

"If it is, he did it to himself," Punk said. "Come on, we'll go get that breakfast. I'm through worrying about him."

^%^

"I should have known better than to get involved with him," Punk told Mickie over breakfast. "He had a reputation."

"I know," she said wryly.

"But he told me that he wasn't like that any more and I believed him. I thought that he had changed. I guess there are some things you can't change, no matter how hard you try."

"Just because he's a dog doesn't mean that he can't be better," Mickie said. "If he wants to."

"And that's the problem," Punk said. "He doesn't want to. Not for me, and not for himself. It was starting to get to the point where I was policing everything he did, in the hopes of keeping him clean and sober. You know how you can care for someone, but if they don't care for themselves, it's a lost cause? Yeah, that's where we're at. And there's no point in going through that yet again." He looked down at the table, at his untouched breakfast. "Especially the drugs. The alcohol is bad enough, but the drugs are killing him, and it's killing me to watch it happen."

"You're not sure it's drugs, though, are you?"

Punk ran a hand through his hair. "I'm almost positive. He gets pretty wild when he's high."

"Some people would say that he gets pretty wild, anyway."

"Yeah, well. It doesn't matter anymore."

"What are you going to do?"

"Move out of the apartment? I don't know. I guess that depends on what he's going to do. If I get home and he's cleared out, I guess I'll stay put and pretend this whole last year with him didn't happen. We can work together, but we're not going to be friends or anything else."

Mickie sighed. "This is rough. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just being my friend is enough," he assured her. "I hate feeling this way. Like I'm fighting an uphill battle. I'm so tired, Mickie. Not just physically, but emotionally." He gave her a wry smile. "But I guess that's what happens when you get involved with Jeff. It's not like I wasn't warned."

"I had hoped that I was wrong," she said. "But it seems like I wasn't."

"It just kills me that he's doing God knows what with that blonde girl. I really thought I knew him. I guess not."

"You can't beat yourself up for it."

"It's the only thing I can do right now," Punk said.

^%^

Punk opened the door to his hotel room, dreading what he might see. Instead of anything sordid, however, he saw Jeff, curled up in a ball, asleep. His heart ached at the sight, and he wanted to turn and run rather than deal with what was happening. "Punk?" Jeff said sleepily. "Where have you been?"

Punk stared at the man for a long moment before he came into the room and shut the door. "Where have I been?" he asked in disbelief. "Are you sure you want to know the answer to that, Jeff?"

"Why wouldn't I want to?" Jeff blinked, then put his head back down. "I'm so tired right now."

"I can't imagine why," said Punk sourly.

"Are you upset about something?"

Punk crossed the room and settled on his own bed. "Not upset. Just disappointed."

"Did Vince bump our match again or something?"

"Jeff," he sighed. "Do you not remember what happened this morning?"

"Not really. I remember talking to you in the hall or something. And there was someone with me, I think?"

"A blonde woman who was attached to your lips."

Jeff's jaw dropped. "No way. I must have blacked out or something..."

"Listen, we have to talk about this."

"I'm sorry about whatever happened this morning."

"It's not just about that, Jeff. It's everything. You want to drink and party all night, every night. I can't do that."

"Well, of course not. I'm not even sure why you come out to the bars with me. I know how much you hate being there."

"I come out with you so that you won't do something stupid, like take drugs or make out with strange women. Except that you do those things anyway, even when I'm there, and it's too hard to watch. I can't do it anymore. I can't stand to see you throw away everything that you've worked for, and I'm not going to let you drag me down with you. I'm sorry, Jeff, but this is over."

"What?"

"I can't do it anymore." He stood, averting his eyes. "I'm not going to sit here and watch someone I care so deeply about destroy himself for a good time. I've seen too many people go down that path, Jeff. And at the end of it, do you know what you're going to have? Nothing. It will kill you, and I'm not staying for that."

Jeff closed his eyes. "What if I want you to help me?" he asked softly.

Punk took a breath. "You don't. We've tried it, and every time, you stop listening to me and go back to your old ways. I don't want to be the warden anymore, Jeff. I just want to be Punk. I want it to be like it was when this started, but I know that it won't. I can't watch this become something that makes us hate one another. I resent you for drinking and partying, and I know you resent me for wanting you to stop. So let's stop resenting one another. You go your way, I'll go mine. We still work together, but other than that, we pretend we don't know one another, okay?"

Jeff was quiet for a long moment. "If that's what you want."

"Damn it!" Punk exploded. "It isn't what I want! It's what I have to do to keep myself from drowning in the water you keep running back into after I've saved you yet again. I can't do it anymore. I'm going to drown with you, and that isn't something I can do. So as much as I'd like to save you, I can't. We both know you have to save yourself. I can't do it anymore." He leaned down and grabbed his bag, neatly packed beside the bed. "I'll be staying with Mickie for the rest of this cycle. When we get home, I expect you'll get your stuff and get out of my apartment."

"Where will I go?"

"That isn't my concern anymore." Punk started for the door.

"Wait! Punk!"

The other man paused, but didn't turn back. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"Can't we just try...?"

"No. I'm sorry, but we can't." And with that, he opened the door and was gone.

^%^

"That was hard," Punk told Mickie later. "Probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

"But it was the right thing."

"I know." He looked down at the bag beside her bed. "I don't know what I'm going to do now."

"The same thing you always do, Punk. Work. Eat. Hang out with friends. You'll get over this eventually."

"I don't know if I will," said the man thoughtfully. "As I was standing there, talking to him, I could see a bag on the nightstand. I don't know exactly what was in it, but it wasn't powdered sugar, that's for sure. It looked like maybe he'd been using something while I was gone. And with it that close at hand, I'm not sure that he isn't using it right now."

"Yeah, but that's on him. It's not like you're forcing him to use or anything."

"I know, but it's still hard."

"Well, if you're that worried about it, maybe you should go and check on him?"

Punk sighed. "And then he'll drag me back in again. When does it end?"

"I don't know."

"I can't hold his hand anymore. He needs to straighten up and walk alone for a while. Maybe then he'll see what he's doing to himself."

"Maybe."

"Anyway, I'm exhausted. Thanks for letting me stay here tonight, Mickie."

"Sure," Mickie said. "That's what friends do, right?"

^%^

Mickie shook Punk awake a couple of hours later. "What's wrong?" the straightedge superstar muttered sleepily.

"There's something going on in the hallway," Mickie whispered urgently. "I think it has something to do with Jeff."

"Jeff?" Punk sat up, instantly wide awake. "what about him? Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Mickie said. "There was a lot of shouting and people running back and forth through the halls. I couldn't tell much from the peephole, except that it seemed to be coming from your old room."

"Damn it," Punk said. He grabbed his shirt and slipped it on.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to go see what's happening. What if Jeff needs me?"

"Punk," she said gently, "you can't rush in and save him. Whatever this is, it's on him, remember?"

"It's a lot easier to say things like that when there's not something going on in the hall," said Punk wryly. "Are you coming or not?"

"Of course," Mickie sighed. "I'm not going to let you go out there and face whatever's going on alone."

"Thanks, Mickie."

"Sure."

Punk took a deep breath, then opened the door. "What's going on?" he asked someone who was standing in the hall.

"I don't know," the woman admitted. "There was all this noise, and the manager popped the door of one of the rooms open. Some paramedics went inside, and now we're all waiting."

"Thanks," Punk muttered. He started down the hall, toward his old room.

"Hey, you can't come in here," said a policeman, who was blocking the hall that sat just beyond his room. "You're going to have to go back."

Would that I could, Punk thought. He glanced back to see Mickie leaving her room, then turned to the policeman again. "That's my room," he said.

"Well, I'd advise finding somewhere else to sleep," the man said. He looked Punk over, then shrugged. "Seems like maybe you already had?"

"Is my friend okay?" Punk asked, ignoring the implication.

"I'm not in there, so I don't know." The policeman stared at him. "Is there anything else?"

"No," Mickie said, laying a hand on her friend's arm. "Thnere's not. Come on, Punk."

"I need to know if Jeff is okay," Punk said. "If he's not... I don't know."

Mickie gently pulled him away from the room. "There's nothing you can do right now. Come on back to the room, and we'll wait together. I'm sure someone will let you know what's happening, as soon as anyone knows."

Head down, Punk allowed himself to be led away from the room. He paused when a wheeled stretcher left the room, his eyes searching frantically for any sign that the man on it was okay. Jeff's body was limp, and his head lolled to the side. "Jeff? Jeff!" Punk lunged toward the stretcher. "Oh my God!"

"Sir, step back!" the man pushing the stretcher demanded. "We can't help your friend if you don't get out of the way."

"He's alive?" Punk asked, his tone shaky.

"Not for long if we don't get him to a hospital," said the man with the stretcher. "Now move!"

Punk fell back against the wall, sliding down when the stretcher passed and went into the elevator. As the doors closed, he felt tears, streaming down his face. "Punk?" Mickie said gently. "Come on. Maybe we should go in."

"He's alive," Punk whispered. He lifted his gaze to meet Mickie's. "He's alive, Mickie."

"Yes," she said, smiling sadly at him. "But you're not going to be in any shape to go see him tomorrow if you don't get some rest. Come on."

Punk pushed himself to his feet. "I can stay in my own room tonight."

"Somehow, I don't think they'll let you," Mickie said, indicating the police who were still milling around the room. "Besides, do you really want to be there alone?"

"I don't know. Maybe I ought to be."

"You shouldn't," she said. "Just come on."

"Your friend is right," said the policeman down the hall. "You're not going to be let into this room tonight. Go back to where you were, and get some rest."

Punk worried his lip ring. "Okay."

Mickie slid an arm around him and led him down the hall. "It'll be all right," she said.

Punk nodded. He wasn't sure that it would, but he hoped for Jeff's sake that Mickie was right.

^%^

He didn't sleep. When the call came in from Vince McMahon, Punk was the first one to the phone. "Hello?"

"Punk?" The voice on the other end had a tinny quality. "Vince here."

"Hi, Vince. Do you know how Jeff is?"

"I just got off the phone with Matt," Vince said. "Jeff is awake and asking to see you."

Punk exhaled slowly. "So he's okay?"

"I don't know. That was all Matt said. They're at Memorial Hospital downtown. Do you know where it is?"

"I can find it," Punk said.

"I can send a car, if that's easier," Vince said.

"I'm sure I'll be okay to drive myself. Or Mickie will take me." He glanced at the sleeping Mickie, then sighed.

"The car will be there in ten minutes," Vince said. "My driver knows exactly where to go."

"Thank you, Vince."

"Don't thank me," Vince said. "I'm not sure what this is going to mean for Jeff's career."

^%^

The car arrived on time. The driver allowed Punk to sit in silence, brooding over the events of the past couple of days. He stared out the window, thinking about how he and Jeff had come to this place. How could this have happened? It had all seemed so promising at the beginning. The trip seemed short, surprisingly enough. Punk thanked the driver at the hospital, then headed inside.

The hospital was large and confusing. He had to ask for directions no less than three times. The final nurse he asked led hin to the room. "Thank you," he said. Then he stood outside of the door, looking for the courage to knock.

Luckily, he didn't have to. Matt must have heard him in the hall, for the other man pushed the door open. "Punk. You're here."

"Yeah. I came as soon as I could." Matt nodded and stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. "Can I see him?"

"I need to ask you what happened," Matt said.

"I don't know," Punk said. "Nio one has told me anything."

"I don't mean what happened in the room. What happened between you and my brother?"

Punk looked away. "We... I don't know that exactly, either. One minute, everything's okay, and then he's drinking and picking up weird women in the hotel. I think he's on drugs again, Matt. I told him I couldn't be a part of that."

Matt nodded. "They did find drugs in his system," he confirmed.

Punk worried his lip ring. "I tried to get him to stop being so destructive. He's been drinking like crazy the last few weeks."

Without another word, Matt opened the door to the room. "I'll give you two a few minutes," he said. "I need some coffee, anyway." And with that, he was gone.

Punk took another deep breath, then entered the room. "Jeff?"

"Punk?" The younger Hardy looked up from his spot on the bed. His wrists were bandaged, and he had an oxygen mask over his face.

"What happened?" Punk asked, sinking into the bedside chair. It must have been the same seat Matt was in, as it was still warm.

Jeff shook his head, a tiny movement. "I can't live without you," he said. He met the other man's gaze, before Punk looked away. "You don't know how much I need you. You're the one thing that has been keeping me together."

"I can't do that anymore," Punk said. "You have to learn to keep yourself together, Jeff. You can't... do whatever it was you did last night."

Jeff's eyes closed. "I know. But you have no idea how horrible I felt. I was so full of despair."

"That doesn't mean..." Punk shook his head. "I don't know. What I do know is that you can't keep doing what you've been doing. Drugs, strange women, drinking to excess... you're killing youself, Jeff, and those of us who care about you don't want to watch it happen. We don't want to see you die. I thought you might be dead last night, and it was killing me."

"You still care?"

"Of course I do! But that doesn't mean that I can do this. I can't. I... I don't want to be the one who finds you after you overdose. I don't want to call your brother and tell him you're dead. And I don't want to be treated the way you've been treating me lately. I'm better than that, and you should be, too. I'm always going to care about you, but I can't be there for you anymore. It's too exhausting."

"I understand," Jeff said, turning away. "Can you go now? I'm tired."

"Jeff..." Punk touched the other man's shoulder.

"Go." The word was snapped, but Punk could hear the tears in Jeff's voice. "You don't want to be here, so go."

With a sigh, Punk stood up. "Okay. I'm sorry, Jeff. I wish things were different."

"You wish I wasn't so screwed up, you mean," said the other man bitterly.

"That too," Punk admitted. "But that isn't what I meant. I'll get Matt for you."

"Don't bother," Jeff said. "I'm going to sleep." Punk worried his lip ring, then turned to go. "I loved you, you know."

The words stopped him cold. "I loved you, too. Still do." And with that, Punk left the room, tears streaming down his cheeks. He met Matt in the hallway. "Thanks."

"You okay?" Matt asked.

"No. But I will be, I hope."

"Okay." He shifted his feet. "Hey, Punk?"

"What?"

"I don't blame you for what happened."

"Well," Punk said. "That makes one of us. Goodbye, Matt." He brushed past Matt, heading for the elevator.

"You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved," Matt called after him.

"I know," said Punk, stepping into the elevator. "That doesn't mean I don't blame myself, anyway." The doors slid closed, cutting the two off from any further conversation.

^%^

(Six months later)

"I'm not sure I get this storyline, Mickie," Punk said. He waved the pages of the script. "We're supposed to have some kind of club?"

"I guess so," Mickie said. "It's just a rough draft, anyway."

"But you'd think after the SES and everything that they would stop trying to make me lead a stable. I'm not sure why they keep going that direction."

"I couldn't tell you. Maybe they think-" She broke off, her eyes on someone behind him. "I should go."

"What?" Punk asked, frowning.

"Punk." The name was quiet, but Punk knew the voice instantly. "Can we talk?"

He turned slowly to see Jeff standing there. Gone was the confidence and the angry posture. "I heard you were back," Punk said. He turned to Mickie. "Will you put these pages in the locker room for me?"

"Sure," she said, looking relieved. "Good to see you again, Jeff."

"You too, Mickie," said Jeff with a nod. The two of them waited while Mickie left, then he turned back to Punk. "I just wanted to say I was sorry for everything that happened."

"Me too," said Punk quietly.

"I went through rehab. It was brutal." He smiled wanly. "You have the right idea with this Straightedge thing. Never starting means never having to feel like you're being tortured."

"You still feel tortured," Punk said. "It's just a different kind." He glanced down the hall, then back to Jeff. "But welcome back."

"Thanks." He closed his eyes. "I wanted to ask you about what you said while I was in the hospital."

"Oh?"

"You said you loved me."

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry about hurting you. I wish I could go back and change how things went. Make you feel that way again."

Punk smirked. "Well, you can't. But for the record? I still feel that way."

"You do?" Jeff opened his eyes to stare at Punk.

"Yes. But if there's one thing I'm good at, it's self control. I may love you for the rest of my life, but I'm never putting myself in a position where you can hurt me again. Excuse me, I've got work to do." He moved to pass Jeff in the hall, but the other man put out his hand, catching Punk's arm. "Let go."

"I can't," Jeff said.

"You have to." Punk disentangled his arm gently. "Because we're not like that anymore. I've got someone new in my life, and you have to live with the choices you made."

"I'm sorry," Jeff said.

"Me too. Goodbye, Jeff. I'll see you around."

"Yeah," Jeff said, staring at Punk's back, tears running down his face. "See you around, Punk." He walked away and didn't see the Straightedge superstar turn, his own eyes filled with tears.

"Be happy, Jeff," the man whispered when the other was gone. "One of us should be."


End file.
